The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(45)

His face warred between annoyance, frustration, and something else. It seemed he didn’t know what to do with her.

The feeling was mutual.

If there was one compliment Esha could give him, it was that he never seemed to speak without thinking and considering all sides. She supposed that was useful for a soldier who wanted to lead, probably why he had risen into the Senap Guard as well.

But that had never been her style and she was growing impatient with him.

He pointed at her. “You make some valid points, but it doesn’t change what I must do. You will go back. You will stand trial—I will make sure of it. Justice will reign. I don’t know about the rest of Jansa, but in the Fortress, when I’m the next commander, that’s how it will happen.”

His brow was furrowed and his hands fidgeted with tension. The meaning of his words hit Esha full in the stomach, thinking back to the other soldiers in the forest.

“Ah, one of you will be named commander.”

Kunal began to speak but seemed to think better of it. He curled his fingers into a fist and sat back.

She had just wasted precious moments arguing with this fellow, who could be the next commander of the Fort. It didn’t matter what her heart told her, her mind was screaming at her to run or to fight. Do something. Her words wouldn’t convince him and she needed to get to Amali.

She took his momentary speechlessness to lunge toward the bed, where she had hidden her whips. She had barely taken a step when she was thrown backward, a knife catching the edge of her uttariya, lodging her, and the cloth, into the wooden wardrobe behind her.

Kunal moved forward, grimacing.

“I’m no idiot, Esha. Though you seem to think so.”

That was exactly the opposite of how she felt. Esha was so stunned that she kept still, realizing the knife had missed the muscle of her shoulder by inches.

“If I didn’t think all Fort soldiers were scum, I’d ask you to teach me that trick.”

She glared at him.

He moved toward her, golden in the dim light of the candle. “It’s not a trick. It came from many moons of hard work and focus.” He considered her. “But I could teach you. Later.”

Esha’s heart lifted at that and she hated herself for it.

She shook her head.

He was mad.

She was mad for caring.

He owed her a life debt. Apparently, he was one of those Jansans who still went by the old codes of honor, which were precious to Naria’s children. Beyond that, there was nothing real here. What in the moon’s name was happening to her anyway? Esha had no illusions about what would happen if he managed to get her back to the Fort, lie or no lie.

She watched him move with silent, fluid motions as he expertly tied her hands together in a tight knot and dislodged the knife from her tangled uttariya.

In other circumstances, Esha would have been pleased at meeting her match.

Now she just wanted to kick him. He deftly avoided her blow, squeezing her hands tighter behind her back.

“Don’t make me tie your feet too.”

Esha stared at him, her eyes wild. He was a madman to think she would let him take her back, that she wouldn’t fight tooth and nail the whole way. She wouldn’t make it easy.

But the soldier was one step ahead of her. He did bind her feet together.

She had to applaud him for it—he learned quickly.

Next he searched her, patting her down efficiently for any weapons. His hands skimmed over the contours of her body, causing her cheeks to flush. His face betrayed nothing, stony and stoic as his hands searched.

She would’ve liked some sort of reaction—she did have a curve or two she was proud of.

Esha finally noticed a faint pain slinking through her torso—hunger—and behind it a sense of weakness. Instead of dinner, Kunal had shown up, and she hadn’t eaten in almost two days, gulping down water and a few fruits and nuts whenever she had a spare moment. Her dinner was down in the kitchens.

Maybe she would rest for just a second. It didn’t seem like she’d be able to get out of here when he was awake anyway. Her stomach growled, a noise loud enough that Kunal noticed.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked.

Esha mumbled something about how running for her life wasn’t really good for the appetite and how he had interrupted her dinner. He shook his head as he picked her up, gently curving his arms under her knees and back. She looked up at him, wondering if he would soften if she pretended to faint or cry. Her pride kept her from doing either.

This soldier was a true mystery. It didn’t make sense—why he was kind to her, why he was honoring a way of life his countrymen had largely abandoned, why she felt there was a depth to him she wanted to know more about.

He put her down on the floor, propping her up between the bathtub and door. From his pack on the table he produced roti and green pea cakes. He portioned it out with expert care, as if he had done this a thousand times.

Esha supposed he had. Someone had to oversee rations while at war. He put her portion on a small cloth on the floor next to her. She looked up at him, her mouth pursed, a sour expression on her face.

“How am I supposed to eat this? With my feet?” His brow furrowed. Esha smiled sweetly at him. “If you untie me, I promise I won’t run. I’ll just stuff my face with food and settle back into a peaceful slumber.”